


Remnants

by Windstorms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Pining Sam Winchester, Pre-Season/Series 01, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest, Stanford Era (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 19:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windstorms/pseuds/Windstorms
Summary: Sam's at Stanford and regretting the way he left things with Dean.





	1. No Take Backs

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting of an old work.

Sam makes it almost three weeks before he nearly gives in to the urge to call Dean.  
  
He's actually surprised it took him that long, but he's been keeping himself preoccupied. College is a blur of organized chaos. Routine he is used to; he's been used to getting up early for training and staying up late on hunts for almost half of his life. But college is a different kind of routine. There's learning where all of his classes are. It takes him about a week and a half for him to find the fastest route to cut across campus and make it from his English Lit class to his Art History elective that starts only ten minutes later.  
  
He has a roommate, which is something else he's already used to. What he isn't used to is that for the first time in his life, the person sharing his space isn't Dean. His roommate spends most of his time out looking for a hook-up or the next party. He invites Sam along sometimes, but partying isn't why Sam is here. Sam came here to find normalcy, a kind of life that didn't include waiting up to see if his brother was going to make it home alive or if this was going to be the time that he never came back at all.  
  
But being at college doesn't change the fact that Dean is still out there somewhere, putting himself in danger in the middle of the night. Possibly hurt, possibly dead. Probably still angry as fuck at Sam.  
  
Sam hopes he's hunting with Dad, at least. They can both be pissed off at him all they want, as long as they're together and watching each other's backs.  
  
Late one night after he's finished studying for his first exam, after his roommate has taken off to go drink with some of the other guys from their dorm, he finds himself missing Dean. As usual.  
  
He misses the sound of his voice. He misses his laugh. He simply misses his brother's presence. He's still not entirely sure he's doing the right thing, and a little reassurance from Dean right now would help a lot.  
  
But even if he did call, Sam knows his brother wouldn't be offering any useful advice.  
  
He tries to imagine how the conversation would go, assuming Dean even bothered to answer the phone. Assuming Dean didn't hang up on him as soon as he heard Sam's voice.  
  
 _This is what you wanted, Sam. No take backs._  
  
That was the last thing Dean had said to him at the bus station, when Dean pulled him into an awkward one-armed hug and Sam turned his face and tried to catch Dean's mouth one last time. He was desperate, already halfway wanting to take it all back and get in the car and leave with Dean even if it meant facing Dad's wrath.  
  
Dean had shaken his head and pulled away. Sam had looked in his eyes and realized it was too late. Dean looked cold and distant, he was already building up walls to shut him out. Everything they were was already over. He’d wanted to reach out to him again, to try to make things right between them. But there was something final about the way Dean was looking at him, reminding him that he couldn’t have it both ways. He'd made his choice, and he'd broken Dean's heart. That was the last thing he'd ever wanted. He'd have sooner slit his own wrists than ever hurt his brother.  
  
It's that thought that stops him from making the call. He turns the phone over in his hand and chews on his lower lip. Eventually he manages to set the phone down on the edge of the desk and he doesn't look at it again. He tells himself he's doing the right thing. He’s done enough damage. A clean break is better.  
  
It's a dirty, ugly lie. Nothing will make this better.


	2. Remnants (Pilot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they wrap up the case, Sam is thinking about what the Woman in White told him and what it means for him and Dean.

_You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been._  
  
_You will be._  
  
Flashlight in hand, Sam is supposed to be studying the map spread out across his lap and tracking down where Dad’s coordinates were directing Dean to head next. But his mind keeps wandering back to what the spirit had said. Sam has never cheated on Jessica. He's never even thought about it. She is a sweet girl, and she is good to him. She is good  _for_  him.  
  
But being back here again, sitting just a few feet away from Dean as they speed through the night back towards Palo Alto.... He finds himself wondering how the Woman in White could see into his traitorous, messed up head so easily.  
  
“You feeling okay?” Dean asks then.  
  
“Huh?” Sam returns, glancing over at him in surprise.  
  
“That ghost bitch. Did she hurt you? Do you need a hospital or something?”  
  
_Or something_ , Sam wants to retort, just to see how his brother would respond. Dean had already checked him over before they’d left the crumbling ruins of the house, running his hands over Sam’s chest and arms until he was satisfied Sam was safe and mostly sound. And besides, they don’t go to hospitals unless it’s absolutely necessary. That’s always been one of their most basic rules. This is Dean’s way of trying to get Sam to talk about things that don’t actually matter.  
  
Sam lets him get away with it. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he murmurs, feeling somewhat disappointed at how easy it is to slip back into the old routine.  
  
Dean heaves a long-suffering sigh like Sam’s being difficult just to annoy him. It almost feels like they’re picking up right where they left off.  
  
But he’s pretty sure where they left off isn’t something either one of them wants to have an honest discussion about yet.  
  
It isn't fair that Dean is even more stunning now than he was the last time Sam had seen him almost four years ago. He sneaks a look over at his brother and regards his darkened profile. Dean doesn't notice, his eyes on the road, and it gives Sam the opportunity to shift the beam of his flashlight, just a fraction, so he can look his fill.  
  
The extra age suits Dean. Where before he’d been a young man that could only be described as pretty, now he has grown into his features. He still keeps his hair styled into short, carefully tousled spikes, but it’s more of a golden brown shade than blond now. Dad’s leather coat finally almost fits him. It’s maybe a little bit too loose around his narrow waist, but Dean’s chest and shoulders have broadened enough to fill the coat out nicely. It makes Sam’s mouth run dry.  
  
Dean’s eyes are the same vivid green that Sam remembers spending countless hours daydreaming about like some besotted school girl. But his eyes are different at the same time. There's a wariness behind them now, like he’s already seen too many nightmares for one lifetime.  
  
He’d known every detail of Dean’s whole life once. Sam had been right by his side for nearly every single moment of it. But now there are gaps of entire years he knows nothing about. He doesn’t know how Dean is even still alive, or where he’s been, or what he’s been doing. Sam has no one but himself to blame for any of that.  
  
Sam wants to touch him again, like he did so casually earlier that day, to reach out and prove to himself that this is real. His breath has gotten tangled up in his lungs and his chest feels tight. His fingers twitch with wanting, but he has no right to touch Dean. Not anymore.  
  
It isn't like that between them anymore. And anyway, Sam is sure it had never meant anything serious to Dean. A few clumsy hand jobs here and a couple of drunken blowjobs there didn't count. That's part of why Sam had run,  _bolted_ really, as fast and as far away as he could get.  
  
It hasn't been like that for years. Sam should be over this by now. He’s moved on. He’s got a girlfriend, and an apartment, and an interview for admission into law school that’s all but guaranteed. He got out of this life. He got away. Or so he thought, right until Dean showed up.  
  
The silence in the car is deafening. He almost wishes Dean would play some of his shitty music to drown out all the things they aren’t saying to each other. The miles are steadily ticking by, and his time with Dean is running out. It’s been four long years with no contact. There’s so many things he wants to say, but he doesn’t know where to begin. He’s more than a little afraid that if he starts talking he won’t be able to stop.  
  
It’s not like anyone’s ever written a how-to guide on how to get over breaking up with your brother.  
  
Dean stretches his right arm out across the back of the seat. It’s a familiar, casual gesture, but for  _them_ , it’s almost intimate. Sam could lean his head back, just a little, and let Dean rub his neck. For a second he actually wants to, and then he catches himself, remembering the Woman in White’s cryptic words.  
  
Sam shifts over closer to the passenger side door, under the pretense of looking at the map more closely. He has to get back to school. Back to Jess. Because the Woman in White had been right.  
  
He can lie to himself all he wants. But the truth is, however he tries to distract himself during the day, he still wakes up some nights, aching to feel Dean’s touch.  
  
If he stays here with Dean, he will be unfaithful. And he already knows that he wouldn’t regret it.


End file.
